


everything lies in the eyes of you

by despertarse



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Gen, M/M, angst angst angsty angst, with a happy ending, ziall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 10:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/despertarse/pseuds/despertarse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>after a fight with Zayn about coming out, Niall doesn't show up for the European leg of the Take Me Home tour. he flies in the opposite direction. </p><p>companion/alternate plot to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/697875">this is the story of a boy who grows up</a>. stands alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	everything lies in the eyes of you

**Author's Note:**

> when I posted 'this is the story of a boy who grows up' I mentioned the plot had run away from me and there was a second version of the story. I actually like this one better. it feels better to me. the first half is almost identical to it's pair, but diverges about a third of the way through. I hope you like this as well.

"Ni, please. Don't go."

The words tumble out of Zayn's mouth, a final plea for Niall not to leave, for things to not change, for them to just go to bed and pretend this argument never happened.

Again.

Niall pauses, his hand on the door knob. His shoulders hunch, quaking as he folds into himself. 

"Don't wait up," he croaks finally and wrenches the door open. 

It slams behind him, the bang echoing through the large open main room of their home. 

Zayn stares at the door, willing his feet to move, to run after him, but his chest feels tight and he can't breathe. The blood rushes in his ears, killing the painful empty silence, and he wonders for a moment if this is what drowning feels like. 

He legs give way and he half falls, half sinks to the cool tile wood floor. 

The fight wasn't a new one and it makes his stomach churn. 

It's been happening more often than he'd like recently, but it's never ended with Niall leaving. Usually Zayn wipes his tears away, peppers his face with kisses as he murmurs soothing promises and 'I'm sorry''s in his ear, and they go to bed. 

He wishes, harder than he think Niall really knows, that they could do what Niall wants. He doesn't want to spend the next tour stealing kisses in empty corridors praying no one walks around the corner, unable to even hold hands around people other than their bandmates and the closest crew. It breaks his heart a little more every time he has to say he's dating Perrie, ignoring the boy on the sofa beside him. 

He loves Niall. He does. But the moment they come out is the moment they get sued, the moment the band falls apart, and he can't do that to the others. This is their dream too and he just can't end it without giving them a choice. 

So they do what they have to do to survive in this business, to not break their contracts with management.

They hide their relationship from the public, keeping it between themselves in a house that sometimes feels too much like a prison. 

But where is Niall now? Has he taken refuge in a bar in the city, gone and gotten a seat on the first train to Ireland, made his way to a friend's flat? Or is he out in the foggy London night, rain falling around him? 

Zayn's heart lurches again, floundering at the thought that for the first time in nearly two years, he doesn't know where Niall  _is._ He's never not known in all the time they've been together, and before when they were merely bandmates. All the lads are good with making sure at least one person knew where they were to stop the others from worrying. When you live in each others' pockets for so long, sudden absence turns from relief that you're alone, to concern that you're alone. 

From somewhere in the kitchen Zayn hears his mobile beep with its text message alert. It beeps twice more as he struggles in his hurry to haul himself up, hoping it's Niall. 

It isn't. 

It's Liam, three messages in quick succession. 

_\- just wantd u 2 kno niall is here wit me._

_\- wat happend mate? hes crying and wont tell me y._

_\- hes staying here 2nite. ill get him 2 the airport 2morro._

_  
_Zayn breathes out, types a quick ' _thanks for telling me. see you tomorrow,'_ and presses send before locking the phone screen. 

How long has he been sitting on the floor if Niall has already made it all the way to Liam's? Too long, if the ache in his bum and legs tell him anything. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, blinking as he peers at the time on his mobile. It's already after one and they're meeting at the airport at eight for their flight to France. 

He sighs and drags himself up the stairs and to their bedroom before falling onto the bed, glad he's at least already wearing a tank and sweats. He curls up under the duvet and flings his arm out to cover the body that isn't there. 

 

***

 

Niall unlocks the door without making a sound. It's half five and the place is still, Zayn still upstairs asleep. 

He chuckles darkly at the irony of his bags already being packed and waiting by the door, as if the universe knew today would be the day he'd leave. Almost everything he can't live without is already in the luggage. The photographs of his family he pins to the wall of his bunk on the tour bus, his favourite clothes, the stuffed giraffe Zayn had given him with a sheepish smile last Valentine's day. 

He stands in the centre of the main room and looks around.

He loves this house. 

He and Zayn had picked it out together just before last Christmas and it's perfect for the two of them, young men on the top of the world. Large open living spaces, a state of the art kitchen, extra bedrooms for friends to crash somewhere more comfortable than the floor. They'd even had the den renovated into a decent sized, soundproof recording studio where Niall could muck about on his guitar and Zayn could sing to his heart's content. They'd already spent hours in it writing songs together and more than once, fucking up against the soundboard. 

Niall slips into the room now, gazing at the platinum records that line the walls. They have two of all of them, one set displayed here, the other along the upstairs corridor. All the statuettes, from their first and second BRITs to their moon men, sit in a row across the top of the case that houses their record collection. 

He is still in awe of their success, that he, a boy from Mullingar could be in one of the biggest pop groups in the world and they could have achieved so much in a relatively short amount of time.

He runs his hands across the soundboard, looking into the recording booth. The microphone stands in the centre of the tiny room, preparing to collect dust in the next few months. 

Niall turns to stand on his tiptoes and bring the Bambi down from the top of the cabinet. Of all the awards they've won, the little deer is his favourite and he wants to keep it as a reminder of what he's about to lose. 

Back in the entry, he tucks the statuette into one of his bags, nestling it amongst his clothes. It only takes a few moments before he's climbing the stairs silently. The door to his and Zayn's bedroom is open as it always is, light beginning to filter in through the curtains at the window. 

Zayn is asleep, looking tiny and fragile where he's curled tiny on his side of the large bed. His long lashes don't quite cover the dark circles under his closed eyes. Niall has always thought he's beautiful when he sleeps, but this time, as he says goodbye, his heart leaps into his throat. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers and presses a feather light kiss to Zayn's forehead. "But I love you too much to do this anymore." 

Then he's gone from the room, fighting tears and collecting his guitars and bags to take them out to the waiting taxi. 

All the pain of the last year hits him again as he's getting into the back seat. Hiding his feelings has worn him down so much he doesn't recognise himself anymore. He's lost the boy he once was. Maybe it's a part of growing up, maybe he's becoming a man, but this is never who he wanted to be. He never wanted to be the type of person who has to hide his love and his sexuality. It had taken him long enough to come to terms with the fact he was gay when he was twelve, back in Mullingar where kids were cruel and he'd first learnt how much words could hurt. When he'd signed his contract with Modest he hadn't thought it would matter, that he'd be to busy to date anyone anyway, it wouldn't be so much hidden as something he just didn't talk about. 

Then he started to see Zayn differently. A part of him had always seen the older lad as something more than a friend, but it wasn't until they were wrapping up the American leg of the Up All Night tour did it really change inside of him. He'd never thought Zayn would feel the same but he  _had_ , loving him back with his whole heart and that made Niall so happy he could burst. He wanted to shout from the rooftops how much he loved Zayn Javadd Malik but his contract denied him the right. 

He knows he should have told Zayn, or Liam last night, or even management, but he can't. He needs time to be alone with his feelings and forget about everything that's happened. 

For the first time in too long, he needs to be  _selfish_. 

He turns his phone off and tosses it into his rucksack.

 

***

 

Zayn's alarm sounds shrilly at quarter til, jerking him from sleep. He'd finally dozed off around five after tossing and turning across his side of the bed, never venturing into Niall's. 

He silences the beeping and sits up, running his hand across the stubble on his jaw. The car will be here for him in fifteen minutes, just enough time for him to shower and put on clean jeans and a t-shirt. He tugs a beanie over his still damp hair and adjusts his fringe before heading downstairs, pausing to shove his phone charger into his rucksack. He drops it on top of the pile of luggage waiting by the door, stopping short when he realises only his things are there. Niall's are gone. 

He sighs, deciding Liam had asked Paul to pick up the bags on his way to pick them up. Liam always thinks ahead, always makes sure everyone has everything they need and are where they need to be. 

Zayn is still munching on some toast when the car arrives and he offers a slice to Dan, one of their regular security detail. The other man takes it and holds it between his teeth as they load the luggage into the boot of the car. 

"Where's Niall?" Dan asks, closing the lid and looking around for the hyper blond. 

"Stayed with Liam last night. Paul's got Liam today, right?" 

Dan nods as they get into the car. 

"Should arrive a bit ahead of us." 

Traffic is normal for a Tuesday morning, heavy but moving. Zayn spends the trip biting his fingernails and willing the car to move faster so he can get to Niall. He doesn't feel like himself without him cracking jokes with Dan from the other seat and poking him in the ribs. 

They make it to Heathrow fifteen minutes before they're to meet the others and zip through check-in via the VIP line. Security takes longer because they're mixed in with the other passengers, ignoring the paparazzi as they take off their shoes and walk through the metal detector. 

Finally, they're being ushered into a large private conference room where the rest of the band and their entourage is already assembled. The room is crowded with staff from the sound engineers to stylists, interns and members of management. The band themselves are off in a corner surrounded by instrument cases. 

Liam looks up as Zayn approaches, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. 

"Niall stop off at the loo?" he asks. 

Zayn stops in front of him. 

"No? How would I know?" 

"He's not with you?" 

"No?" 

Liam is out of his seat in a second, leaving Zayn to stare at the now empty chair as it hits him. Hard. 

Niall. 

Isn't.

Here.

He hears someone curse, feels someone removing his rucksack from his shoulders, sees a mess of brown curls cross his vision as arms snake around his waist. 

"Breathe, Zayn. In and out," Louis instructs from behind him. 

He has to find Niall. 

He jerks against the arms holding him in place, unable to control the strangled sound coming out of his mouth. 

Harry lets go but forces him down into the chair Liam vacated. 

"What happened?" he asks quietly. 

Zayn slumps forward, head in his hands and Louis reaches out to rub soothing circles into his back. 

"We had a fight last night and he went to Li's. Li texted me saying he was there and he'd get him to the airport today, and when I got up this morning his luggage was gone so I assumed Paul had stopped off to collect them before he went to get the lads." 

He says it all in one breath and he can feel the glance Louis and Harry exchange above his head, even if he can't see it. 

"I really fucked up," he whispers and leans into Harry when the tears prick his eyes. 

Harry envelops him in his arms again, making soothing noises under his breath. It doesn't stop Zayn from hyperventilating, choking on the air in his lungs as he struggles to breathe. 

Then one of the members of their management team is standing in front of them asking questions. Where would Niall go? Did he say anything to any of them? What did Zayn do? Had Niall been planning this, god forbid if he'd been planning this, he's in so much trouble -

" _Shut up,_ " Louis hisses from behind gritted teeth, one hand clenched into a fist at his side, and the other resting protectively on Zayn's beanie. "No one is to blame for this. Just do your job and fucking find him." 

The woman recoils like he's slapped her before her face hardens. She stalks off, snapping at one of the assistants to get Maura and Bobby on the phone. Everyone in the room's eyes follow her and now they know something is very, very wrong.

Liam finishes speaking with Paul and returns, joining the little huddle that's now surrounding Zayn. 

"Zayn, I need you to look at me for a second," he says softly, hand coming to cup Zayn's cheek. Zayn obliges him, glasses fogged and nose running. "Was it the same fight?" 

Zayn chokes on the single word. 

"Yes." 

Liam visibly deflates, shoulders sagging. He's been waiting for this, for Niall to finally have enough and leave after a year of hiding. The Irish boy was never meant to hide. He wears his heart on his sleeve, loves openly and freely, just like he laughs. It isn't him to keep a secret like this and Liam knows it's been tearing him apart. But he did it for Zayn, because Zayn had asked him to. A part of Liam almost hates Zayn for it, but he doesn't ask why. 

Zayn calms down enough to find his mobile in his pocket. There's only one message, from Louis that says ' _TOUR DAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYY :DDDD'_  and nothing else. He hits speed dial 1 and presses the phone to his ear. The call rings twice before the automated voice tells him Niall isn't available so please leave a message. 

"Niall. It's me. Where are you? I'm so sorry for everything I said last night and ever. I love you so much. Please, just -" his voice breaks and he swallows down the lump in his throat " - when you get this, call me." 

Paul walks over then, face stony as Zayn hangs up the call. 

"Lads, we need to begin boarding." 

"But, Niall -" Harry starts and Paul shakes his head firmly. 

"You have commitments. You need to get on the plane and go to France. We will find Niall and send him when we do."

Louis' jaw is tight, defiant.

There are five members of One Direction, not four. They can't just go to another continent without one of their own. 

Yet it all comes back around to what's gotten them in this situation in the first place - the contract hanging over their heads. 

Zayn is the first to rise to his feet, shoulders resolute. 

"Let's go." 

Harry gapes at him, green eyes wide. 

"Zayn, we can't just -" 

"Paul's right, Harry," Zayn says defeatedly, tiredness evident in his voice. "What would we accomplish by staying here?" 

His whole body aches like it's missing something vital. Air. Water. Sleep. Niall. But there's nothing he can do.  

 

***

 

By the time the One Direction team has begun arriving at Heathrow, Niall is already on a plane to Ireland. He's paid in cash, hoping management doesn't ask the airline to run his name, only thinking to check his credit card. Check in and security were a breeze. The paparazzi had been alerted to their departure time being over an hour later, so no one is really milling about. Any other people who notice him must only think he's getting ready to go to France and the rest of the band aren't far behind in arriving. The stewardess doesn't pay him any more mind than she would another passenger, for which he's immensely grateful. 

As soon as the plane is in the air Niall slips his headphones on and tries not to think about everything he's leaving behind. It's only beginning to set in, now that the journey has begun. 

It isn't just Zayn and their home. 

It's Liam and Louis and Harry and their friendship. 

His career. 

Possibly their careers. 

And suddenly the guilt is overwhelming. He's doing the thing Zayn fought so hard to not do - breaking up the band, crushing the dream so soon after it's begun. 

All because he's being selfish and can't keep feeling like he's less than human. They can continue without him. They don't need him. But they treat him like their brother - they won't  _want_  to do it without him, why didn't he think of that? 

He feels weak, like he can't raise his tingling fingers to press play on his iPod and there isn't enough oxygen going to his brain because he can't breathe. He doubles over in his seat, wheezing and clutching his aching chest. 

"Mate, you alright?" the man next to the window asks. 

"Bad flier," Niall lies breathlessly, raising a shaking hand to pull his headphones off. 

A moment later the stewardess is pressing an air sick bag into his hand. 

"Breathe, Mr. Horan. In and out," she says. 

Niall scrambles to open it, pressing it around his mouth and nose, inhaling and exhaling through his mouth. He just wants this feeling like he's about to die to stop. 

The feeling passes in a few long minutes until he's slumped down in his seat and breathing normally again. The guilt, however, remains. 

It's still there when he lands in Dublin. And when he collects his bags from the luggage carousel. And when he hails a cab. 

And when he finds himself on his father's doorstep. 

Bobby opens the door mere seconds after Niall rings the bell as if he's been standing just inside the entry way, waiting for him. 

"Dad-" Niall starts but he can't finish. He feels himself crumble, the tears starting again as his father pulls him into a hug in the doorway. "Dad, I think I fucked up." 

Bobby pulls his sobbing son into the house, bags and guitars and all. He removes the rucksack from his shoulders, duffle from his arm, guitar case from his hands, and settles him on the sofa. 

"What happened, Ni?" 

"Zayn and I have been fighting. Cos he doesn't want to come out and break up the band but I'm so tired of hiding, I can't do it anymore, Dad," Niall says, blue eyes glassy with tears and exhaustion. "So I left, and I realised on the plane, the lads won't want to continue without me so I basically did what he was trying not to." 

"What about you?" Bobby asks quietly, reaching out to run his fingers through his son's hair. He hates to see him like this, falling to pieces beside him, and he hates what the band's management has done to him. He'd quite like to wring all their necks for breaking his boy the way they have. 

"It's exhausting, pretending to be someone I'm not," Niall sighs. "And I love him so much it hurts sometimes. I can't keep on like that."

"So don't keep on like that."

Niall shakes his head sadly. 

"I-I can't. I won't. I just feel so guilty." 

His lips tremble before he falls forward into his father's chest and his sobs pick up again. 

In a few minutes Niall cries himself out, eyelids drooping.

"Get some sleep," Bobby murmurs and stands to pull the blanket off the back of the sofa and place it over the boy.  

Niall is out almost instantly, snoring lightly through the thickness of his throat, curled up on his side. 

Bobby looks down at him for a long moment before taking the mobile out of his son's pocket and wandering into the kitchen for his own phone where he'd left it after the angry call from the management company. They blamed Niall for this, not themselves. They asked him to call them the boy sleeping on the sofa in the other room, but he doesn't owe them anything. They've destroyed the person his son once was and he's not going to give him back to them. 

Instead, he thumbs through Niall's contacts for one of the few people his son trusts, entering the number into the phone in his other hand. 

 

***

 

It's only an hour flight from Heathrow to Charles de Gualle, and Zayn spends it tucked under Liam's arm in their seats in first class. All four boys have been silent, too worried about where Niall is to say anything, each lost in their own thoughts. 

When they land it feels like they've been in the air for days instead of mere minutes, and the first thing Zayn does is turn on his mobile. It lights up with incoming alerts, but none are from Niall. They're from his family, a few friends outside the band, Perrie, wishing him luck on the tour. 

He turns to Paul, in the row behind them. 

"Anything?" he asks desperately. 

Paul shakes his head, giving the boy a sad look. 

"I'm sorry, Zayn." 

Zayn turns back to the front of the plane and slumps down in his seat as the other passengers stand and begin to gather their things, his bandmates included. They're whisked through the terminal and into one of the many waiting vans, leaving members of the staff to collect their luggage. They ignore the fans and the paparazzi who scream their names, barely aknowledging them. After a brief argument with one of the management team, it's just them and Paul in the van for the drive to the radio station. 

"Here's what they're going with," Paul starts immediately after the van is moving. In the five minute walk between the gate and the carpark, he's been brought up to speed. "The press is already aware Niall didn't get on the plane with us, and even if they weren't they sure as hell are now. There's a rumour he was spotted at the airport, but they know he's not in France. Modest is pushing the story he's sick and will be joining us later." 

"So they expect to be able to bring him out here," Zayn mutters darkly, "when they don't even know where he is."

If Modest hasn't found him yet, they won't. They have their fingers in everything. Surely they'd know by now. 

He leans against the window of the van, cool glass to the burning skin of his cheek as he tries not to start crying again. All he wants is Niall safe. At this point he doesn't care where. If it's with him, awesome, if it's not, awesome. As long as he knows he's alright. 

Somewhere in the vehicle a phone rings, 'You've Got a Friend In Me' filling the space. 

"Really, Liam?" 

Liam ignores Harry in favour of fishing his mobile out of his bag. It's still ringing when he finally finds it, the screen lit up with an unfamiliar number. 

"D'you know this number?" he asks of his bandmates, holding the phone up. 

Harry and Louis shake their heads, Zayn doesn't look up. 

Liam decides to answer it anyway, something he's been told not to do, but something in his gut tells him it's a good idea. 

"Hello?"

"Liam," the thick Irish accent says on the other end of the line. "It's Bobby Horan. Are you with people you can freely speak in front of?" 

"Yes," Liam replies instantly. "Have -"

"Yeah. Niall's with me." 

Liam closes his eyes, breath leaving his lungs with relief before he can stop it. 

"Thank god." 

Zayn's head snaps up at the way Liam's voice sounds so relieved. 

"Who is it?" he demands. 

Liam holds his hand up, signaling him to be quiet because Bobby has begun speaking again and he can't hear properly. 

"I'm keeping him here for a while. Can you do me a favour? Don't tell Modest he's with me. They'll only get someone on a plane to come collect him, and he's -" Bobby breaks off, voice splintering. "He's not alright. I don't know if he will be again. I'm giving him a few days to decide if he wants to come back, and whatever happens will happen then. But tell the other lads he's safe here as long as Modest doesn't know where he is. Okay?" 

"Yes, sir," Liam says quickly. The promise fills the silence of the van, all the boys staring at him. "Tell him - tell him we love him, yeah? And we hope to see him soon." 

Zayn all but launches himself at Liam across the van, forgetting about his seatbelt. He struggles with it for a brief second, but Liam is already hanging up the call by the time he's free of it. 

"Where is he? Where's Niall?" 

"Lad, put your seatbelt back on!" Paul says sternly from the front of the van. 

Liam yanks Zayn onto his bench and buckles him in beside him, Harry shifting to sit next to Louis in the place Zayn has left open. 

"Paul, I know you work for  _them_ ," Liam bites the word out scathingly, "but nothing I'm about to say can be repeated." 

Paul has the audacity to chuckle. 

"Unless one of you was dying, nothing you said would ever leave the sacred place of our van," he reminds him. 

"Niall's with his father," Liam says, turning back to the three other boys who are looking at him like he holds all the answers. It feels like he does - he at least has the one they need to hear right now. "He arrived a bit ago. He's a mess, but he's safe." 

"Alhamdulillah," Zayn mumbles under his breath, again and again like a prayer, head falling into his hands. 

 

***

 

The morning after arriving in Mullingar, Niall is packing his things to leave again, consolidating a tour’s worth of luggage into a single bag that’s small enough to lug around with one hand. He has to be careful with how he’s going about this, so in the cool morning light he pops round to the twenty-four hour drug and grocery down the street for a package of black hair colourant. It’s early enough that the older woman working the till doesn’t bat an eye at him.

It’s odd, seeing himself with dark hair again twenty minutes later, hands braced over the sink of the bathroom as he inspects his reflection in the mirror above. He’s grown used to the blonde Lou so ruthlessly maintains. If she could see him now, she’s have his head.

Niall thinks a silent thanks for online banking as he transfers half the contents of his main bank account into the smaller one he maintains without the management company’s knowledge. Each of the lads has one, for when they need to be as discreet as possible, like when Louis purchased an engagement ring last month. With the account he then logs onto the airline’s website, perusing the options.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Bobby asks when he walks into the living room with two mugs of tea. “You haven’t had much time to think about it.”

Niall nods, accepting a mug without looking at his father. He knows if he does his resolve will break and he’ll be right back where he started.

He needs to do this. For himself, for Zayn, for the rest of the band. He may have broken contract, but the others won’t be allowed to. They’ll be forced to continue without him, secure in their careers, and they’ll forget about him soon enough.

It’s not like they’ve ever really needed him anyways.

It’s always been Niall in the shadows of the other four, never noticed, not important. Liam with the big voice and sensibility, cheeky Harry and his charm, Zayn with his quiet mystery that only opens on stage, Louis and his no-bullshit attitude and harmonies. And then there was Niall. Boring Niall.

“Just last night you thought leaving was the wrong thing to do,” Bobby continues.

“Things change, Dad.”

Niall chooses to begin in South America and minutes later has a flight booked to Buenos Aires. He knows enough Spanish that travelling around the continent will be fairly easy as long as he keeps a low profile.

A low profile.

He scoffs.

 

***

 

The first week of the tour, Zayn is miserable. It’s one thing to know Niall is safe, another not to have him there. He, Liam, Louis, and Harry spend it telling management they don’t know where Niall is, but their sudden calm with the situation has the whole Modest team suspicious. They perform in Paris to a screaming crowd, sharing Niall's solos, but they don't have to say the songs sound empty without his voice mixing with theirs, harmonies filling out. The next night in Amneville is worse. They're all feeling the loss of their missing bandmate, but Zayn is the worst, listless on stage, missing cues. As soon as they're off stage, he gets pulled aside by the same blonde woman from two days previous and is yelled at to get his shit together. They're already missing one member of the band, they don't need to lose another. Louis comes to his defense, pulling Zayn away from her as soon as he hears her yelling. 

Zayn allows himself to be dragged away wordlessly. He hasn't slept in three days; he's too tired to argue. Louis forces him back into their dressing room where Liam and Harry are clambering about, arguing over who gets first shower before they have to get back on the bus. 

"Zayn, I know you're hurting, but -"

"Don't fucking give me that shite," Zayn growls, drawing himself up to his full height for the firsl time since he watched Niall walk out. "You think I know how I feel right now? My best friend, my  _boyfriend_ , has left me the night before the biggest tour of our lives, the most important tour of our careers. I don't know if he's coming back to me, or to the band, at all. Cos he won't return my phone calls or answer my texts and yeah, I'm hurting. It bloody hurts because I love him and I fucked up." 

"Zayn, it's not your fault," Harry starts softly. 

"Except it is! I told him we couldn't come out for the sake of the band!" Zayn is yelling now, voice trembling as he wildy looks around at the boys around him. Liam and Harry have stopped horsing around to stare. "I didn't want to ruin this for the rest of you!" 

"Zayn. No. No no no no no." 

Liam moves forward and takes Zayn's face in both of his hands, forcing the other boy to look up at him. 

"We thought you were doing this because you didn't want your family to have to deal with the backlash. Not for us. If you coming out hurts the band, who the fuck cares. You and Niall and your happiness are more important to us. You're our  _brothers_ , Z. It hurts us to see you unhappy." 

"But -" 

"No buts," Harry speaks up, wandering over to stand behind Liam's shoulder, his eyes and voice resolute. "If you two want to stand on stage and hold hands or snog or whatever, we will be standing behind you, fending off management with our microphones." 

"Yeah!" Louis supplies and rushes them, throwing his arms around Zayn and Liam, tugging Harry in too. Leave it to Louis to lighten the mood. 

Zayn feels the tears in his eyes as he's crushed in the embrace, nose against Liam's chest and head somewhere under Harry's armpit. 

"I love you lads. So much." 

"We love you too, Zaynie," Harry coos, pressing a kiss to the top of Zayn's head. He turns serious again. "But really. We mean it. And Niall will come back.”

 

***

 

Niall decides he could stay in Argentina forever – if it weren’t for the aching in his chest. The people are friendly, the food superb, and he’s made it a week without being recognised. He supposes the darker hair helps, along with the hoodies he keeps pulled up against the sudden rainstorms of early autumn.

He works his way down the coast, stopping at as many places from his guide book as he can manage. He stops to see Lionel Messi’s hometown of Rosario, Los Glaciares with its high walls of ice, Peninsula Valdés and its wildlife. He’s never seen penguins in the wild before, only in zoos as a child. They remind him of Zayn with their secrecy and sudden bursts of exuberance.

In each place he buys a postcard and addresses it to his and Zayn’s home in London, filling the blank spaces to the left with stories of places he’s seen and people he’s met. He mails them before leaving each city, leaving them in the post collection boxes at the train station.

They feel more like good-bye than anything.

 

***

 

After a month, Zayn begins to come to terms with the fact that Niall isn’t coming back, at least not any time soon. Even Modest has given up on finding him, instead quietly seething and making the rest of the boys’ lives hell. They grin and bear the new restrictions, no leaving the hotel or venue, always being accompanied by an intern, even if they’re merely going to the loo, because thanks to a weekly text from Bobby, they know Niall is safe. He doesn’t give them any other details. It’s just a simple text to Liam’s phone on Saturday mornings to let them know Niall has checked in and is safe, wherever he is.

The story management is going with is Niall is away due to personal reasons, a family emergency, and to please respect his privacy during this emotional time. Rumours swirl, fans tweeting their support, but the forums and tumblr are full of theories. Everything from a member of Niall’s family dying, to Niall being on his deathbed, a rift in the band, to management covering up a scandal.

Zayn stays off the internet, off twitter, throwing himself into the tour. When he isn’t performing or doing an interview, he sleeps. He’s always had the ability to sleep anywhere, on the floor of a dressing room to the sofa of their tour bus, but now it’s magnified. At first it’s because he thinks sleeping will take his mind off of everything, but a few weeks in all of his dreams turn to Niall. He dreams of waking up with him in their bed at home, sometimes of finding Niall’s lifeless body. Each time he wakes it’s with his trembling hands fisting the duvet he’s had wrapped around himself. But still, he sleeps because even the worst nightmare is still better than the constant aching emptiness he feels when he’s awake.

The other boys feel it too, like without Niall all the sunshine is gone. Liam is stoic, still making sure everyone is where they need to be, but more efficiently and quietly. Harry’s mega-watt smile dulls to the point of Ed flying out to try to party some life into him. And Louis’ sass and sarcasm become remarks so rude he’s being constantly chastised by management.

They’re breaking.

 

***

 

From Argentina, Niall moves west then north again, and by the time two months has passed he’s as far as Belize, near the Mexican border. It’s summer here and a golden tan takes over his once pale skin. By some miracle he still hasn’t been recognised, for which he is grateful as he walks the streets of Belize City. The town feels stuck in time from when it was a British colony. He watches ships enter and leave the harbor for a while before wandering off again to find something to eat. He’s not hungry and hasn’t been in weeks but he eats anyway, always on a schedule, because his father would kill him if he didn’t.

Sometimes Niall wonders if that would be a better option than this.

He loves travelling, loves seeing all the places he’s read about, but sometimes the loneliness is too much and he lies in the bed of his hotel room for a few days until he finds the will to move again.

One evening somewhere in Bolivia he finds himself sitting next to a fountain, staring at his refection in the rippling water.

Underneath black hair colourant is the face of a boy he no longer recognises.

He wonders where he lost himself.

 

***

 

There’s a week long gap between the end of the European tour and the beginning of the North American one, and it’s then that Zayn decides he needs to do it.

He’s tired. That kind of exhausted that weighs you down til both your spirit and body are heavy.

And he’s tired of hiding.

He gets the other lads to help, a plan thrown together at the last moment because it’s the best option. He wants to do it on his own terms, not in an interview or a big expose with a magazine.

Liam agrees to be with him when he does it, with Louis and Harry at standby at their flat across the city.

They set up Zayn’s laptop in the recording studio of the house, sitting on the dark leather sofa with the computer on the coffee table in front of them. The lighting is dim but decent enough and just being in this room makes Zayn more comfortable.

“You ready?” Liam asks, fingers hovering over the keyboard to begin the twitcam.

Zayn nods and swallows hard, heart hammering in his chest with so much force it feels like it’s going to fly from his ribs.

Liam gives him an encouraging smile and turns the webcam on, quickly sending out a link with the tweet, _guna do a twitcam. com watch pls, its important x._

Despite no advance warning, the views climb to hundreds of thousands in seconds and Zayn feels like he’s going to be violently ill. Liam squeezes his hand below the camera’s view.

“Heyyyyyy everyone,” Liam says with a grin as the chat to the right of the screen explodes. “This twitcam is gonna be a bit different than usual, cos Zayn here has something to say. Zayn?”

Liam shifts to the side of the sofa so Zayn is the only one in the frame, reaching forward to pull the laptop closer to the edge of the table.

“First of all, I love every single one of you,” Zayn begins, hands now clasped in his lap because he doesn’t know what else to do with them. “You all have been with us from the very beginning and supported both me and the other lads unconditionally. I hope that won’t change.”

He pauses and glances at Liam, who gives him an encouraging smile. 

“I’m gay,” he says before he can think about it a second longer and change his mind. With the words there’s an incredible lightness in his chest that fights the heavy worry of what management will do. At this point he doesn’t care what they’ll do to him – only what they’ll do to the others. But they’ve given him their blessing and know what the repercussions could be.

“I’ve been hiding it out of fear of what Modest would do to the band if I went against my contract and came out, out of fear of the backlash. I’ve felt like a coward and have been miserable and I’m sick of it. It’s time for everyone to see this part of who I am, and I don’t care what anyone says because I’m in love with the greatest guy I’ve ever met. We’ve been together for two years and I’d quite like to be able to hold his hand in public even if he’s not here to do so. So, yeah. There it is. I know this will change some of your views of me, even though I wish it wouldn’t because I’m still the person I’ve always been, you just know about all of me. So thank you to those of you who will continue to stick by me and the band. I love you, we love you.”

Zayn looks at Liam again to avoid looking at the chat that’s moving so fast he can’t keep up, to avoid looking at his phone which is now buzzing on the arm of the sofa.

Liam leans into the frame and with a quick, “talk to you later! Love you!” he ends the broadcast. The webcam light goes dim as Zayn begins to hyperventilate, leaning forward with his head between his knees.

What has he _done_.

“Breathe,” Liam murmurs and rubs small soothing circles into his back. “I’d say it’s over but it’s just beginning. But think about how much happier you’ll be.”

“Niall isn’t here though,” Zayn chokes out, muffled against his jeans. “And none of it matters without him.”

Liam says nothing – there isn’t anything he can. He leaves Zayn to himself to go to the kitchen and make tea. He flicks the kettle on and pulls a couple of mugs down from the cabinet, then tea bags from the holder on the counter. As he waits he sorts through the mail sitting on the bar that’s been collected by one of the record company’s interns whilst they were gone. There’s a large manila envelope without an address on it, just a hastily scribbled note in black ink.

_Zayn – these have been arriving for you since the week you left. I thought it best to leave them here for you when you returned than forward them where they’d be intercepted. Best of luck._

Liam picks up the parcel to unwind the string holding it closed. It’s heavy in his hands, whatever’s inside it sliding about as he tilts the open envelope to get it out.

His eyes widen at the myriad of postcards that fall out across the counter, from Buenos Aires, Machu Pichu, Bogota, and other places. He picks up one on top, showing a picture of the ocean and _Saludos desde Perú_ , and flips it over scanning the message on the back.

“Zayn,” he calls, postcard gripped tightly in his hand and he stumbles over his feet to get back to the studio. “Zayn you need to see this.”

 

***

 

With the rest of One Direction due to arrive in North America in a few days time, Niall flees the continent for Asia. He lands in Jakarta after nearly twenty-four hours of travelling, exhausted from the flights. He finds his way through the terminal by signs in English as well as Indonesian, stopping by a small shop to buy a bottle of water. As he makes his way over to the till to pay, he glances at the newsstand, brightly coloured magazines and papers lining the racks. There are some British tabloids, and splashed across the cover of the _Daily Mirror_ is a photograph of Zayn from last year with the headline, ‘One Direction now two directions as Zayn Malik comes out!’

Niall grabs for the paper, hands trembling and heart pounding as he flips it open and quickly goes through the pages to find the article.

_One Direction fans were in for a shock last night when member Liam Payne announced a livestream on his twitter account. Instead of the usual silliness, Zayn Malik had something to say._

_In a twist of events, the Bradford native announced he was gay, firing shots at the band’s management company, Modest, and even saying he was currently in a relationship._

_In the hours since, Modest has released a statement denying the allegations that they prevented Malik from discussing his sexuality, saying, ‘We never once told Zayn or the others they had to hide who they were,” but Louis Tomlinson, the only member of the band who was willing to comment, disagreed._

_“Modest may have never explicitly told Zayn he had to hide his sexuality, but they made it very clear what would happen if he chose not to. Liam, Harry, and I support him and his decision, no matter what Modest chooses to do next.”_

_With both Malik’s comment of the man he loves not currently being around and Tomlinson’s mention of only two of the other members of 1D, there is much speculation that the second half of Zayn’s secret relationship is his bandmate, Niall Horan. Horan has been out of the public eye since March and is not currently on tour with the rest of the band, Modest citing a ‘family emergency.’ Sources close to the band say Horan isn’t in the UK or Ireland and hasn’t been seen by family members in months._

_The Daily Mirror wishes Malik and the rest of One Direction all the best, and salutes Malik for his courage._

Niall stares at the print in front of him until the words blur into grey due to the tears welling in his eyes. Zayn actually did it, came out, told Modest to go fuck themselves.

He tosses the paper back onto the rack and fumbles for his phone in his pocket to check the date. He has –twenty-four hours before Zayn gets on a plane to the United States.

Twenty-four hours to fix this.

For the first time in weeks he feels almost happy, with the sparks of fear running through. He doesn’t know if Zayn will forgive him this, but all he can do is hope.

 

***

 

Zayn sits through two hours of being yelled at by various members of management before Simon storms into the room, recalled from the home in Barbados where One Direction had come together. Where Zayn and Niall had come together.

“Everyone out,” he orders sharply and his staff scurries from the room with fear in their eyes.

Simon sits on the edge of the table next to Zayn, who stares down at his hands in his lap, silent for a few moments.

“I’m sorry,” Simon says finally.

Zayn looks up quickly to search the older man’s face, completely bewildered.

“Why?”

“I didn’t know what Maria had done. I never wanted to deny you your happiness, Zayn.”

“You didn’t know about any of this?”

Simon shakes his head but doesn’t recoil from the anger in the younger man’s trembling voice.

“The morality clause in your contracts was never meant to extend this far. She blew it out or proportion.”

Zayn laughs bitterly, hysterically for several long minutes because of fucking course. Of course he’s been thinking it was something it wasn’t for these few years, being miserable when he didn’t have to be and forcing Niall to be as well.

“It’s Niall isn’t it, who you’re in love with?” Simon asks when Zayn has quieted down some.

Zayn nods, wiping tears from his eyes with the bottoms of his hands.

“Except I don’t know if he loves me anymore. He left that night because I wouldn’t come out.”

“And you don’t have any idea where he is?”

“He’s been sending me postcards. I got them all when I got home the other day. The intern who had been collecting our mail left them at the house for me instead of sending them to me on tour because she didn’t want anyone else to find out in case they decided to go find him,” Zayn whispers wistfully. He’d sent the girl flowers and a heartfelt thank you card. “The last one I got was from Belize, this morning. I don’t know where he is now. I tried calling him but his phone went straight to voicemail.”

“We’ll find him, Zayn,” Simon promises. “We’ll find him and bring him home and neither of you will be punished.”

 

***

 

After two months in South and Central America, the pollution of London is sharp in Niall’s nose when he lands at Heathrow. But it smells of home.

 

***

 

Zayn doesn’t want to pack, but he has to. He should have been the whole time he’s been hiding in the house this week, afraid to go out and face the paparazzi waiting for him at the gate, but he’s put it off to the night before they’re set to fly out to New York. He doesn’t want to leave without Niall again, but he resigns himself to it as he carries a basket of clean clothes upstairs to the guest bedroom he’s been sleeping in since his return.

He dumps the clothes on the bed and climbs onto it, careful not to disturb the postcards he has laid across the duvet. They’re laid out in chronological order, address facing up so he can read the words.

Each of them is signed ‘all my love, Niall,’ and Zayn can only hope that wherever Niall is that’s how he really feels.

 

***

 

Niall’s hands shake as the taxi pulls up at the gate in the front of the house. The paparazzi are gathered at the back where cars usually enter and exit, more of them than usual with Zayn making headlines again. He pays the driver and collects his bag, discreetly punching in the passcode and slipping through the gate. The house is mostly dark at nearly midnight, only the lights of one of the guest bedrooms facing the street on.

He unlocks the door and quickly enters his code into the alarm box next to it so it doesn’t start to go off.

“Louis?” he hears Zayn call from upstairs, accompanied by the sound of footsteps on the landing. “I told you to go pack, mate.”

Niall freezes, hands clenching around the strap of his rucksack. He’s gone over this moment a thousand times in South America and a hundred more on the flight home, but he doesn’t know what he’s going to say.

“Louis, come on, don’t be a knobhead.”

Zayn’s coming down the stairs now and the entry is bathed with light from the high chandelier overhead when Zayn flicks the switch at the bottom of the staircase.

He stops and stares blankly, disbelieving.

“Niall? What?”

He takes him in, clothes disheveled and jeans ripped, hair dyed dark and curling around his ears instead of the short blonde Zayn loves to run his fingers through. He rubs his hand over his eyes and blinks as if he’s dreaming.

“I-I’m so sorry,” Niall breathes, heart panging painfully, and then suddenly the rest of his breath is knocked out of him as Zayn’s body collides with his own. Zayn’s arms wrap around his neck and he holds on tight as if letting go would cause Niall to leave again.

“You absolute wanker,” he growls, face buried in Niall’s hair. “I hate you so much and I love you and I missed you and why would you do that to me you arsehole?”

Niall brings his arms up to hold Zayn as his shoulders quake with sobs, unable to control the tears now slipping down his own face.  

“I was tired of hurting and for once I needed to think about myself and not the band and _I’m sorry_ ,” Niall says again, choking on everything else he wants to say but can’t right now. “How has everything been?”

“Bloody miserable,” Zayn replies, still not letting go. “Absolutely miserable. God I wanted to call you every day and I couldn’t and it hurt so much.”

“I know,” Niall whispers into Zayn’s neck before breathing deep and inhaling the scent of his soap. “Me too. I should have.”

“You needed time, I understand that now,” Zayn says sadly, pulling back enough to look at Niall. He releases him and drags his hands up to cup the other’s face in his palms, uses his tumbs to wipe away the tears there. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through, and that you felt the need to leave. But I spoke to Simon and it’s sorted and he doesn’t care. Neither do the lads. God, the lads, we should call them, they’ll want to see you. They’ve been nearly as miserable as me.”

Niall grimaces at the mention of his best friends, his stomach in turmoil again. Louis won’t be so quick to forgive him, no matter how happy Zayn is that he’s back. Two months is a long time to go without contact, even if he understands.

“Can we wait til morning?” Niall asks and raises on his toes to press a kiss to the corner of Zayn’s mouth. “Tonight I just want to be with you.”

 

***

 

Their flight is delayed by a few days as Niall reunites with Harry, Liam, and Louis, Zayn keeping an arm slung around his shoulders to protect him from the oldest lad who looks like he wants to tear him apart under the relief in his face.

Liam pulls Niall into a hug, whispers, “good to have you back, Nialler,” before passing him off to Harry who does the same. Then they settle into the sofas of the living room for Niall to tell them about his travels. He stays pressed into Zayn’s side, their fingers laced together on Zayn’s lap as the boys listen to Niall speak.

Afterwards they fall into playing FIFA and arguing who gets the last egg roll from the Chinese takeaway and Niall wonders how the hell he ever thought he could give this up.

 

***

 

Lou nearly cries when she sees the state of Niall’s hair and spends all afternoon fixing it. By the time she’s finished with him, it’s short and dark blonde – “can’t go as light as it was just yet” – and he looks more like _Niall_ again.

 

***

 

New York City welcomes them with open arms, all five members of One Direction together again. They’re scheduled for an interview and performance on the Today show just like last year, the first in months it’s all of them and after no rehearsal in just as long, Niall feels the nerves. They’d run through the songs a handful of times in their London studio space, but it’s not enough. Part of him is excited to get on stage again, where he belongs, and the other half know it won’t be so simple.

The night before Zayn wraps himself around Niall in the bed of their hotel room in Manhattan, and presses his nose into his neck.

“You don’t have to do this,” he whispers.

“Yeah. I do.”

 

***

 

When Zayn reaches for his hand and grips it tightly on live national television, the crowd erupts, screams splitting Niall’s eardrums and leaving his head ringing.

“So it’s true then?” Matt Lauer asks and Niall finds himself nodding.

The want to know how it happened, what’s been doing, where he’s been, but none of that matters.

All that matters is he’s here now, and he won’t be leaving again. 


End file.
